


The Party

by Unrepentant_Marvelite



Series: Moving Forward [1]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bad Parenting, Brain Damage, Canon Disabled Character, Hurt/Comfort, Party, Seizures, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 12:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3850645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unrepentant_Marvelite/pseuds/Unrepentant_Marvelite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Raven attend a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Party

Charles is just setting out the clothes he’s decided on for the evening when he hears footsteps in the hall.

“Rae?” he calls without turning around, “Love, what do you think about this tie? Is it too much, d’you think?”

But rather than a scathing remark from his sister Charles hears a knock on the open door in response. Definitely not Raven, then. She wouldn’t knock even if the door were fully closed.

“Yes?” asks Charles, turning carefully to the man at the door.

“Master Charles? Your mother suggested you might appreciate some assistance getting ready?”

“She what--? Oh… That’s… That’s alright, Dawkins, thank you, but my sister will be along shortly, I’m sure.” He tries to wave the servant away but the man continues to hover in the doorway, undeterred.

“I believe your mother would prefer it, sir, if I helped you instead,” Dawkins says quietly.

“But… Raven can do it, really. And I get along fine on my own, you know. I don’t need a minder.”

“Of course not, sir, but I would be happy to help if it could ease or speed the process any. Guests will begin arriving in fifteen minutes, after all.”

“Thank you, but I really would prefer Raven, I think. She always helps me.”

“Master Charles,” Dawkins says gently, “forgive the presumption, sir, but I believe your mother’s objection lies in the… propriety of your sister helping you. You’re both getting older and—“

“She’s my sister!” Charles snaps, “And she’s been helping me for the last year anyway! Why is it suddenly now a problem, I wonder!” He collapses onto the bed beside him with a huff, the flash of anger dissipating as quickly as it appeared.

Dawkins sighs and comes into the bedroom properly.

“Let me give you a hand, sir,” and he begins setting out the rest of Charles’ clothes. He, like nearly all of the staff, was here before The Accident and has watched the last year of Master Charles’ recovery through its many iterations of frustration and family dysfunction. He knows certainly not to interfere but… it has been a wearing year.

Dawkins helps Charles wrestle the compression sleeve over his bad leg. He then helps the boy strap on the stiff braces that keep his leg locked in a useful position and prevents it from trying to jerk out from under him as he walks. They move to the crippled arm next. Charles spends a few moments massaging and stretching the limb out of its spastic curl before he lets Dawkins shimmy the sleeve up to his shoulder. They move on to the regular clothes then with Dawkins doing the buttons and zips without a word. Charles has been practicing doing them one-handed but time is a factor and Dawkins knows the delay will only frustrate and stress the boy more.

 It isn’t until Dawkins has put the finishing touches on a Windsor of the not-too-much tie that Charles finally speaks. Dawkins remembers a boy who hardly paused for breath before The Accident. It tugs at his heartstrings to see the change.

“I guess it’s for the best, really,” he brushes absently at his hair and rubs at the line of scars hidden beneath.

“What’s that, sir?”

Charles looks up as though he only just realized he’s spoken aloud.

“My sister. She… I suppose I do rely on her too much. She shouldn’t be tied to me. ‘Tisn’t fair to her,” he murmurs and fiddles with the fingers of his bad arm. It’s twisted into a tight rictus against his chest, useless and clenched into fist despite the attempts to loosen and stretch it out only minutes before.

“I don’t think she minds as much as you’re imagining, Master Charles. Your sister loves you very much.”

He does not add that she might be the only one left who does.

“Yes, well,” Charles gives a little sigh before saying, “Thank you for the help, but I’m sure you have other things to attend to now…”

“No trouble at all, sir. Your mother also mentioned that she would like a word with you, if at all possible, before the guests arrive. I believe she said she’d be in the drawing room.”

The boy closes his eyes briefly, his expression carefully blank.

“Fine. Thank you.”

\---

Charles traces the fingers of his good arm along the wall as he makes his careful way to the drawing room. His mother hates him leaving fingerprints all over but he needs the contact to steady himself. Balance is a flighty thing for Charles and the only other option is to walk with a cane. His mother says the cane is even worse, however, as it “draws the wrong sort of attention.” Whatever that means. 

Charles does not find his mother in the drawing room but getting in the way of the staff in the ballroom as they rush through last minute preparations for the party.

“Charles, darling!” She turns from micromanaging a flower arrangement only to scowl at his appearance.

“What have I told you about your hair, dear? It looks so common like this!” She sighs at him and starts fussing with his curls.

Charles pulls back abruptly from his mother’s grasp.

“It’s fine, Mum, really. Why did you send Dawkins to help me earlier? You know I can manage on my own. And Raven has been helping with my shoes and tie so--”

She waves away her son’s foolishness.

“It isn’t proper for your _sister_ to be helping you dress, of all things, Charles! You’re both getting older and it’s high time you stop treating each other so familiarly.”

“You want me to, what, treat her like a stranger? Would that be more proper?”

“I want you to treat her as young man would treat a young lady, Charles. She isn’t one of your boyhood mates you can just romp around in the mud with, you know.”

Charles can only splutter and stare at his mother. Raven is all that has kept him sane this past year. He could never imagine treating her to the frosty politeness and the wheedling, manipulative interactions high society demands of its members. She is his sister and his best friend.

“Anyway, you know how important tonight’s fundraiser is, darling,” his mother continues, ignoring her son’s indignation. “It would be very damaging to the Foundation if you were to make some sort of _scene_ tonight, Charles. Not to mention mortifying to the family. Do be on your best behavior, please, dear.”

It takes Charles a moment to work out what exactly his mother is referring to. He, if anything, is the least likely of Sharon Marko’s children to “make a scene.” In fact, Charles is fairly certain he never even threw a temper tantrum as a child so what could she mean by— oh.

“Mother,” Charles has gone stiff now, his voice low and tight, “when you say ‘make a scene,’ you are alluding to my having a seizure, yes? You are actually asking me not to have a seizure during the party because it would _embarrass_ you?”

“Not only me, dear, but everyone! A good hostess never makes her guests feel uncomfortable. And don’t try to twist my words to make me sound so heartless! You know I only want what’s best for you.”

Charles is practically shaking now from the effort of keeping his voice level.

“You know that it isn’t something I have control over, yes?  You _do_ know that, Mother? I don’t do this, all of this,” he makes a jerky gesture with his dead arm, “for _attention,_ or, or to somehow put you out!”

Sharon rolls her eyes at her son’s mounting histrionics. He has been so difficult about even the simplest things lately. The doctors had warned her about that, about how she had to be patient and understanding about his “change in circumstances,” but really, hasn’t it all gone a little too far? This was exactly the kind of thing she was hoping to avoid and now he’s about to go to pieces in front of the Help, no less.

Thankfully, Raven chooses that moment to enter the ballroom.

“Mum, have you seen—oh! There you are!” She says as she spots her brother.

“Raven! You… you look fantastic.” Charles chokes out. It is easier to turn away from his mother with Raven in the room. She hates it when her mother and brother fight and would have been upset by the argument.

“Really?” Raven lights up at the praise, “Thanks!” She twirls gracefully and lets the skirt of her gown catch the motion and float outwards.

“Really,” he replies and holds out his hand to her. When she takes it, Charles pecks her on the cheek and tucks her hand into the crook of his bad arm. “Come on, love, let’s go sit down and wait for things to start.”

He shoots a glare at his mother as they leave the ballroom behind.

 ---

“You look glum,” Raven tells her brother as they settle in the downstairs library. It’s Charles’ favorite room in the whole house. She makes a point to get him in here whenever he looks uncomfortable or frustrated and needs a place to calm down.

 “Sorry,” Charles replies immediately. He’s rubbing absently at his leg, the one that’s still prone to getting tight and cramped.

 “Is your leg hurting? Making you glum?” She kneads her fingers in around her brothers’ and starts to massage the muscle the way the physical therapy team taught her. Charles says she’s the best at rubbing the tightness out and it always makes him feel better.

 “Ye—I mean no! Raven, stop,” he scoots away from her on the sofa and pushes her hands away. “I mean, don’t, you don’t have to do that. You shouldn’t.”

 “What, why? I thought you said I was good at it? Don’t I do it the best?”

 He sighs. “Yes, yes of course you do. Thank you, really, but… Raven, it’s just, you shouldn’t have to take care of me. I’m supposed to be taking care of you, you know. That’s how this Big Brother thing is supposed to work after all and I… well. It hasn’t been like that for a while now, has it?”

 Raven frowns at him. “Don’t be dumb. Of course you take care of me! And why can’t I help you if I want? I’m better at it than anyone else and you’d do it for me, obviously. Stop being so dumb.”

 “It’s just… this isn’t going away, love. And I can’t be reliant on you to always help me, I have to learn to take care of things on my own—“

 “You can do things on your own! Of course you can! I know that ‘cuz I watched you learn everything in rehab, remember? I was there, like, everyday!”

 “Yes, you were so you know that I should be doing these things myself—“

 “You’re just so _slow_! And you always put your sleeve on backwards! And it’s easier if I help and then you don’t get tired and don’t have a seizure so what the hell’s the problem?”

“Don’t swear Rae—“

“ ‘Hell’ isn’t a swear!”

“It is—“

“Isn’t!" 

“It _is!”_

“ _Isn’t!_ ”

Charles throws his arm up in exasperation. “You’re ridiculous! I just don’t want you taking care of me, all right?” He practically shouts it. Anger simmers so close under the surface these days.

Raven is quiet. She watches her brother as he fidgets under her gaze and soon he turns away.

“What did Mum say to you?”

“She didn’t—why do you think she said something?”

“‘Cuz you’re being touchy and you only get like that when you’re upset and you always let her _get_ to you, Charles.”

“I didn’t…” he sighs in defeat. Arguing with his sister used to be so much easier. She’s grown so much in the last year that he finds it impossible to hide anything from her anymore. “I just… I really don’t want to do this, Rae.”

“This? The party?”

“…Yeah.”

“You can’t bail.”

“I know.”

“You’re, like, the guest of honor.”

“I know. That’s the problem. I don’t want to spend the evening with strangers gawking at me like a car smash and telling me how sorry they are.”

“You were the one that said the Foundation should start spending more money on useful things like medical research.”

“I know, I know. It’s better than the bloody Cultural Preservation Society or whatever it was last year. It’s just… Raven, I’m her _son._ I told her I wasn’t comfortable being some sort of poster-child for Traumatic Brain Injury and she didn’t listen! She did all this anyway because it’s ‘good for the Foundation,’ and she knows it’ll bring in donors.”

Raven shifts uncomfortably. “Well, she is right, you know. You’re putting a face to all this, Charles. You know how these people are. They love it when they can be _seen_ being charitable, especially by those they think they’re helping. And, I mean, if it gets them to write bigger checks, then so what? You heard what Logan said, once they get some money for the research they can start figuring out better drugs and treatments and stuff. It’ll help a lot of people, Charles.”

“Yeah.”

Raven stretches out then, careful not to put any wrinkles in her gown. She puts her head in her brother’s lap and stretches like a cat across him.

“Come on,” she whines, “I’ll stay with you and we can play Spot-the-Best-Dye-Job and Find-the-Best-Fake-Laugh.”

This wins her a smile from her brother. He strokes her hair a little, conscious of not messing the styling.

“Ok. You’re right,” he says at last. They can hear people arriving in a flurry of false cheer and pleasantries out in the entrance hall.

Raven stands and brushes lint off her dress. She waits while Charles braces himself against the sofa for a moment until the dizziness of standing up has passed. Then he puts an arm around her shoulder and kisses her cheek.

“When did you get so smart, darling?” He asks as they make their way to the ballroom.

“Oh, I’ve always been this way. You’ve just been too thick to notice until now. You should really listen to me much more often, Charles.”

Her brother laughs as they join the party.

 ---

Charles is staring at the ceiling of his bedroom.

It takes him some time to realize this, and when he finally does, he blinks and looks around the room. Raven is playing her Game Boy curled up in a chair by the window. Her gown is swirled around her and she hardly glances at her brother as he sits up in bed.

“Bugger,” Charles says as it dawns on him what must have happened. He’s in only his undershirt and shorts and his party clothes are nowhere to be seen.

“Are you back yet?” Raven asks disinterestedly from the window.

“Yeah. When… what time is it? How long was I out?”

“It’s been about twenty minutes since it started. But, as that’s the third time you’ve asked me that, the clock’s still running until I’m sure your back.”

“I’m back. It’s over, I’m fine.”

Raven snorts. “You always say that, you know. Even when you’re still definitely post-ictal.”

“What kind was it?”

“Cranky-Asshole.”

“ _Bugger_ ,” Charles repeats as he flops back against the pillows.

When Charles’ neurologist had asked them to keep track of the type and timing of the seizures as they came, the siblings had immediately forgone the complicated, medical terminology for each species in favor of their own, more descriptive names of the behavior. Cranky-Asshole was proving to be the most common.

“And then it turned into a Big-Shakes before you passed out. But we were in the sitting room by then so it was just me, Dawkins and Francine with you. And you didn’t piss yourself, so that’s good.”

“Yes, thank heavens for small mercies,” Charles mutters as he rubs his arm. There’s a sore spot on his elbow so he assumes he banged it against something during the fit. “Did I yell at anyone?”

Raven grins and immediately puts down her game to join her brother on the bed.

“You were talking to Mr. Worthington when it started and you told him he was a ‘cow-headed gargoyle!’” She laughs now, cross-legged in her evening gown on the bed.

“Oh God, Charles, I wish I’d had my camera! You should have seen his face! He said, ‘Pardon me?’ like he hadn’t heard correctly even though he was going so red you knew he had. I was trying so hard not to laugh when I told him you were having a seizure and needed to go sit down! And you could tell he just didn’t know what to say back. He just kind of gawped like a big fish! I don’t think he would’ve even believed me if it hadn’t been such a _weird_ thing for you to say! Where did that even _come_ from? Cow-headed gargoyle! What the hell Charles! You crack me up with the things you say when you’re like that!”

Raven slaps her thigh and hoots at the memory as Charles covers his eyes in mortification and groans.

“Oh, Christ! Oh, I hope someone explained it to him… Oh, no, what did Mother say?”

The laughter dies away. Raven shrugs and tries to keep the easy smile as she says, “I dunno. I left with you. Don’t worry though, she’s fine, I’m sure. She’ll spin it somehow into more money for the Foundation, so it’s no big deal.”

“Oh no, this is not good… I knew I was getting tired, I should’ve left before this happened,” Charles frets. His sister leans into him and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey, it’s ok, really. I don’t think many people even noticed, you weren’t loud as we were leaving, just sort of muttering and telling me to get off. And Mum should’ve known this was gonna happen. I mean, we told her getting tired and stressed is a trigger, so what did she expect?”

Charles can only shake his head in reply. He knows being reasonable and understanding are not some of his mother’s strengths. He turns onto his side, away from his sister in the bed. 

“Sorry you had to leave the party,” he tells her quietly.

“It’s ok. It was lame.”

He knows she’s lying. Or, at least, stretching the truth. Raven loves getting dressed up fancy for the parties and, as much as they make fun of the guests, he also knows she loves the opportunity to meet all the new people. She secretly revels in her ability to make easy conversation and be the perfect hostess her mother holds so highly in esteem. He hates that she had to leave the party because of him. 

“Raven,” Charles’ voice cracks a little as he tries to get himself under control. Seizures wear him out like nothing else and it’s been a long, frustrating day already. He feels emotionally raw and wrung out in the aftermath.

“Will you promise me something?” he asks her, still quiet and choked.

“Hmm?” She’s sits up. She knows Charles is back in his head now, no longer disoriented and amnestic, struggling through the post-seizure fog. It’s fair game to make fun of him or laugh for the things he does or says when he isn’t in control or going to remember anyway but she knows it would be mean to do it now. Even if he is getting overly-emotional like he does sometimes when he’s still recovering.

“Don’t do this forever.”

“Don’t do what?”

“ _This._ Taking care of me and ignoring your needs and wants because of me. You have to promise you won’t do this forever, ok? You’ll go off and live your own life at some point.”

Raven rolls her eyes and tries to brush it away.

“Charles—“

“No, listen!” He shifts over to face her. His eyes are glistening as he takes her hand.

“It’s like I was trying to say before… this isn’t going to go away, Raven. I’m getting better, certainly, but we know it’s never going to be like it was before The Accident--”

“Hush, you’re fine, it’s getting better.”

 “No! It’s just… Dammit, I couldn’t stand it if I let you ruin your life with this too!”

Things are going south faster than she anticipated. Charles doesn’t swear.

 “I’m trying to find a way, to find a way to live like this—“

He’s sniffling properly now and Raven hates to see her brother cry. She clutches at him and he holds her right back.

“--and I can do it, I really think I can but, my God, Raven! I love you so much and I can’t bear it if you—“

“Shut up, just shut up! Shh shh.”

She buries her head into his shoulder and they’re both sobbing properly now so it’s wet and uncomfortable but she doesn’t want to listen to him talk about these things anymore.

“Stop it, just stop it! You’re not making me do anything!”

“Just promise me! Promise me! It doesn’t have to be now, or, or next week or next year, but Raven! Promise you’ll have a life one day, ok? Please, God, you have to! Please, just promise me you’ll go—“

“No, that’s stupid! I won’t ever do it!”

“Please Raven, please, I need you to promise! Don’t let him take this from us too!”

And they both dissolve into a fresh bout of tears. Raven breathes in the scent of him, she did this every night while he was in the hospital, every night they told her she had to leave and go home with the driver, leave her brother there, alone, hooked up to those machines, knowing he’d be upset and frightened when he woke up with her not there—

“It’s not fair!” she cries to his chest.

“It’s not, it’s really, really not, love.”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“Not now, no, not now. But someday, ok? Someday. Please Raven, please! When we’re older and I don’t need you anymore—" 

“But I need you too!”

“I know, I know, and we won’t really leave each other, not ever--”

“Not ever!”

“—but you won’t plan your life around me, ok? That’s all I’m asking, Rae. I need you to promise me just that.”

The sobs wear down eventually. The tears dry and Raven relaxes her death grip on Charles’ shirt in favor of snuggling close to him. For a moment, it’s just as it was when they were younger and there was a thunderstorm or nightmare to be guarded against.

“Ok.” She says quietly.

He squeezes her shoulder.

“Ok. I promise, Charles.”

“Thank you, love. Thank you so much.”

They doze off together as the party dances on below.


End file.
